Criticism

I am my own worse critic is a phrase I've always heard but now that I am dealing with my truth as I journey the recovery terrain, I wonder if I may have uttered this as a child & released it to the universe. Ha~ha!

I have a tendency to criticize myself & it is something that has been ingrained into the very core of me. Sadly, I can't think of a time when criticism wasn't swirling around me, sorta like crows circle a carcass on the side of the road – always nearby to pounce & often times blending into the scenery. The reason criticism was heaped upon me is a simple but painful fact: the adults in my environment weren't happy with their own lives so they lashed out @ everyone – adults & children were treated to the biting, spirit crushing sting of the caustic litany of not doing something “right”. The children were hurled inflammatory words, subjected to ridicule & often humiliated in front of other adults & children. Damaging words that leveled what smidgen of self-esteem we had. Words like “retarded”, “stupid”, “dummy”, “stupid f@#*”, “dumb ass” were as common as “hand me a beer” “good morning” or “good night” – rarely, was I called anything derogatory about my intelligence because it was apparent from an early age I was blessed with a thirst for knowledge. Still, when it came to anything that was “domestic” the barbs were flung in my direction – like a puck whizzing in the air @ an unprotected spectator @ an Islander game. I wasn't going to be a “housewife”, “maid” or “cook” so I didn't gravitate to those household chores. I had a brain so I certainly wasn't going to waste it by cleaning someone's toilets like my aunt – who was betrothed to an abusive pedophile & thought her worth was cleaning other people's houses. I wasn't going to be anyone's servant. As for cooking, it didn't appeal to me, I certainly wasn't going to get caught up in the mix of rushing home to put “dinner” on the table – stopping whatever I was doing to “slave over a hot stone” was not my calling. I knew this from a young age, I was not meant to use the gifts God bestowed upon me to just settle & dust. Nope, I was not the kind of girl that became all giddy over a can of Pledge or Easy Off, nor did I shriek w/ delight when the latest iron hit the market. Nah, not me. I just wasn't into that – I just wanted to read, write & wield my pen as a powerhouse w/ my own publishing corporation.

I was told I didn't know how to clean, dust, mop, make a bed, cook... My answer was, “Why? Not my thing.” or “ I'll have someone do it for me”. Thing is, I still don't make a bed “right” by my critical aunt's standards & that is OK because I make it just right (when I do) for my standards. I dust my bookshelves, TV, computer screens when the sunlight shines on the dust – hahaha. As for cooking, I know how to order take out & delivery is even better. I know how to make a mean pasta salad & pesto sauce, so I'm good. If it makes me happy, it's all that matters. I have to learn to put the criticism & all of its dysfunction away – it is about time. I am not out to become the next Paula Deen, Rachael Ray or Giada De laurentiis. Afterall, that is why they have their gifts to share w/ the world.

No longer do I have to drown in the toxic swamp of criticism. I have to stop criticizing others (smash those recordings) & myself.